


I Am What You Want (Me To Be)

by scramjets



Category: Enchanted (2007), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Enchanted AU, Logan (X-Men)/Scott Summers... sorta, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scramjets/pseuds/scramjets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princes from another world don't usually spring up from beneath the streets of New York City. And Logan doesn't usually go out of his way to help them out. Usually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am What You Want (Me To Be)

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks in the world to scottxlogan for cheering me on, and especially for taking the time to put together a [comic strip](http://media.tumblr.com/7c0ffab291d5d33179214cebae6e15fb/tumblr_inline_muyxm2K3YG1qka75b.png) to go along with this fic :). Title comes from a song by The Jungle Giants of (mostly) the same name.

The street had been closed off at both ends, cordoned from the main stream of traffic by a line of orange cones and barriers. Logan straightened, worked the kinks from his back and lit up. He got about three puffs in before the supervisor shot him a look.

The job was routine maintenance: check that everything was in order, pack up and move on to the next street. Mindless physical labour, something to work his muscles and make him sweat. Easy. Simple. And as far as Logan understood, there was nothing beneath the streets of New York City, nothing that set them apart from other cities. No pink sludge or other worlds, and so it was completely out of the norm when a man – a _man_ – shot from the manhole they were sliding the cover over.

Maybe they would have been less dumbfounded if the man wasn’t head to toe in red velvet, or if he hadn’t been accompanied by a rain of sparkles. And if it wasn’t for the sword, they could have pinned the entire thing down to some confused New Yorker, going by the whole princess thing and the chipmunk. _Definitely_ the chipmunk.

“The hell, man,” Gordon said. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt, still jumpy at having been threatened with a sword. “Shoulda called the cops on that nut bag.”

“Shit,” Logan said, “think of the OHS paperwork you’ll be filling in.”

Gordon glanced to him, not bothering, this time, to tell Logan off for the cigar clamped between his teeth. “Shit,” Gordon repeated, hand at his throat.

“And maybe you shouldn’t’ve let him go if you were considering the cop thing.”

The man had disappeared as quickly as he had materialised, slipping into the crowded streets with a whip of his cape. Logan rolled his shoulders and bent to grab the crowbar he had dropped. No point letting the manhole sit open, unless they were keen on inviting any other wayward royalty to the party.

Glitter dotted the bitumen like flecks of diamond. It rimmed the manhole, an edge of silver against a black circle. Logan peered into the belly of the street before he sealed the hole, the heavy steel lid slotting neatly into place. Nothing had looked back.

“You gonna report it, boss?” one of the other men asked.

Gordon was still staring at the manhole, and Logan could tell by the look on Gordon’s face that his plan was to forget about the incident. Paperwork aside, how the hell would they explain it? Gordon met Logan’s gaze and Logan shrugged.

“I think,” Gordon said slowly, “we’ll keep it to ourselves, boys.”

 

The burger joint was tucked away in a side street; one of those hole-in-the-wall establishments with not enough seats and a massive queue at lunch. It was quiet when Logan turned up; he would go either before the rush or after. The main cook – Bobby – greeted him with a wave and a grin that Logan returned with a nod. He wouldn’t need to put an order in; Bobby would have already slapped another two patties on the grill.

“Logan!”

Logan met Marie en-route to Canada some years back and had brought her back to the city with him. They road tripped together every so often, as much as work would allow. More stubborn and headstrong than any other person Logan knew, it was good to see her more at peace than when they had first met, and less inclined to disappear during uncertain moments. Not that Logan could claim to be any less of a vagabond.

“Hey kid,” Logan said as he returned Marie’s hug. “Nice hair.”

The bangs that framed her face were bleached white, a sharp contrast to the deep red of her natural colour. Marie smiled. “Just something different.”

“Looks good,” Logan said.

Marie laughed before she left to tend to the slow filter of customers. She set his burger before him minutes later and Logan sat while he ate, thoughts rolling through his head as he watched the ebb and flow of traffic through the streets. The strangeness of that morning had become a distant – if odd – memory until Logan caught a flash of red in the otherwise monotone street.

Logan wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans as he stood and flicked a wave to Marie and Bobby before he headed back onto the sidewalk. The prince stood in all his tight-in-the-right-places and questionably-puffed-in-others glory: balanced on top of a bus as if it were an animal, with one hand propped against his hip while the other was wrapped around the handle of the sword that was pierced through the bus roof.

The bus came to a short stop and Logan tensed, expecting the man to pitch over the front of the vehicle. Instead, he braced, as if riding on top of buses wasn’t an unusual thing (and Logan was prepared to believe that) and slid his sword free before he hung over the bus entrance.

The driver wasn’t happy. She stomped out of the bus as the prince landed neatly on his feet and stood, ready for praise, only to falter when the driver rounded on him. Logan snorted, and then frowned when he saw nothing but confusion in the prince’s body language, as if he had no idea that severing buses with swords was not an acceptable past time.

The traffic that had come to a standstill in the initial confusion had eased back into life. New York moved too fast to be stopped for any length of time.

Logan slid his hand through the short crop of his hair and sighed.  “Hey,” he called out as he approached.

The prince and the driver turned to him: the former perplexed and the latter furious.

“Hey what?” the driver said. “Did you see this guy here? He stabbed my bus!”

“Yeah, I saw it—“

“Oh! It’s you!”

The bus driver turned on him again. “You know this guy?” she demanded as she jabbed a finger back to the prince.

“Hell no.” Logan was not prepared to take that much responsibility.

“Then keep your mouth shut, ‘less you gonna call the cops.”

Logan’s fingers twitched, itching for a smoke. “Look, how about I take him off your hands,” he said instead. He aimed for reason and fell short, annoyance bleeding into his tone. “And you,” Logan continued, shooting the words over the bus driver’s shoulder to the prince, who had disengaged from the conversation and was currently scanning the crowd. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where are you taking him?” The bus driver demanded, Marilyn, Logan finally noting her badge.

“To the station,” Logan told her.

Marilyn all but levelled him with a single look. “Good,” she said, “you better.” With that, she turned and stalked back to her bus, striding past the prince as if he didn’t exist. A feat of self-control, considering the smile the prince graced her with: broad and all teeth.

“Okay, bub—“

“Wonderful,” the prince interrupted. He spoke with a flourish of hands. “I demand you take me to the nearest castle. With luck we’ll be able to sort this thing out and I’ll finally,” and here the prince clasped his hands over his heart and eased his weight to one side of his body in something of a swoon. “Be married to my darling Giselle.”

Logan wasn’t sure what to make of the monologue before he settled on ignoring it completely. He could feel the prickle of curious stares on his back, and Logan set his shoulders in an effort to set straight that he was _helping_ the guy, and not _involved_ with his velvet lined antics.  “Just get out of the damn street already.”

 

Logan secured the rest of the afternoon off, telling Gordon he had things to do and to take it out of his annual before he stalked home. Edward, as Logan learned, followed without much of a fuss, save for the threat of breaking out in song – he couldn’t believe it. _In song_ – every block or so.

“You don’t do that shit here,” Logan had told him firmly after the first few bars. “Not unless you’re goin’ to dedicate yourself with a few hours and a hat.”

Edward – now that Logan had a proper name, like hell he was using the title – had smiled at him and asked, in all seriousness, how he would be reunited with his beloved otherwise. Logan found he had no answer.

Home was in a low-level block of run down apartments on the edge of the city. A young woman sat on the pock holed stoop, dressed in a black pullover and cap.

“Hey, Logan,” she said as they approached, the enthusiasm in her greeting turning into curiosity as Edward, in all his caped glory, came into view. “Who’s the guy?”

“Wish I knew, kid,” Logan said.

Kitty raised an eyebrow at him before her gaze drifted back to Edward, who stood with his arms akimbo as he surveyed the building. “Ah,” Edward said, “a commoner’s respite.”

“Okay,” Kitty said, the word a confused drag as she glanced back to Logan.

“Just get inside,” Logan told Edward, words accompanied with a shove up the stairs. “He sings, too,” he called over his shoulder to Kitty. The heavy glass door cut off her laughter.

The inside of the complex was no better than the outside: the carpet was worn and tattered at the edges, and Logan was pretty sure that mold was starting to creep in at the corners, if the collection of black spots were anything to go by. He called the elevator, stabbing the button with more force than necessary before he turned his attention to Edward, who was distracted by the noise of the elevator shaft.

Logan took his first good look, stupid outfit aside. Edward stood taller than him by something of a foot, and, unlike Logan who was dense with muscle, was compact and lean. There was nothing offensive about his face either: the line of his jaw and the angle of his cheekbones pleasing enough to look at.

The elevator dinged, and Logan dragged his focus away to step into the caged lift. Edward hesitated, hand at the hilt of his sword before he followed. Logan hit the floor number and watched as Edward tensed as the elevator doors slid shut. The floor jostled before the elevator shuttled upwards and Logan remained silent as Edward slipped into a defensive position. It was as if he had never ridden a lift before.

“The hell do you come from, Eddie?”

“Edward,” he corrected, voice sharp. The sword had been unsheathed a fraction. Logan could see the metal glint in the overhead lighting. “Prince Edward of Andalasia.”

“Anda—what? Where in Asia?”

Edward shot Logan a look over his shoulder. “Andalasia.”

“Okay,” Logan said, “now I’m certain you made that one up.”

The elevator came to a short stop in the middle of Edward’s response and the sword came out, fully unsheathed.

“Watch kid, bub,” Logan barked, “before you poke a goddamn eye out.”

The doors slid open and revealed another patch of faded carpet and another wall mottled with water stains. Logan waited until the sword was back in its scabbard before he shoved Edward out.

Edward jerked away. “I found it within myself to forgive you the first time, peasant, but the next time you—you _manhandle_ me like that, I’ll see to it that you are—“

“Are what?” Logan said, “arrested? Hung? We’re not in your fantasy land right now, and like hell I’m gonna to play along with it.”

“Why have you brought me here?” Edward demanded. He looked up and down the hallway before he pinned Logan with another hard look. “And where’s Giselle? What have you done to her?”

“I have no damn idea, kid,” Logan said, answering the only question that mattered. “Trust me on that one.”

 

The apartment was a single bedroom affair, crammed in alongside a kitchenette and bathroom. Laundry was communal, delegated to the 3rd floor. It was difficult to keep things tidy in such a small space. Clothes were draped over every available surface, and empty beer cans were left in any blank spots. The smell of smoke draped over everything else, though that had come with the apartment. Logan simply maintained it.

Edward stood at the entrance. “If you’re going to suggest we stay here—“

“Look,” Logan said, already having crossed the room and fished out a bottle of beer from the bar fridge. “I’ll clear the couch if you’re going to kick up that much of a fuss about it.” As an afterthought, he grabbed another bottle and kicked the fridge door shut. He set the bottle on the kitchen bench with a sharp clink.

Edward looked at it and back up to Logan.

Logan rolled his eyes, popped the cap off and tossed it into the open bin. He set the bottle down with exaggerated flourish before he uncapped his own and took a long draw.

“So,” Logan started once his head cleared from the rush of alcohol. “Andalasia.”

Edward approached the kitchen bench and perched himself on the stool that sat before it. He perked when Logan spoke, back straightening.

“Andalasia,” Edward repeated, hands coming up. “Just beyond the Meadows of Joy and Valley of Contentment—“

Logan’s bottle paused en-route to another mouthful. “Okay,” he said as he set it down. He shoved a hand in the back pocket of his trousers and dug out his phone.

The smartphone had come more from Marie’s insistence than Logan’s need for anything fancy. Her reasoning was for the maps and GPS, for when they ventured into the wilderness, but Logan was half certain that she wanted to make sure he didn’t disappear without her knowing. Not that he had. He opened the search function and then glanced up to Edward whose eyes were fixed on the device.

“What on earth is that?” Edward reached across the table as he spoke and swept the smartphone from Logan’s loose grasp.

“Yeah, sure, take it,” Logan groused, “no need to ask.”

Edward didn’t appear to hear him, far more fixated with the technology than a person in New York should be allowed. Logan took another swig of beer.

The tinny sound of the ring tone drew Logan’s attention back. “Hey,” he said as he snatched his cell and canceled the call. “New rule: don’t touch anything.”

Edward shot him a glare which Logan allowed to roll off his back.

“How do you spell it?”

“Spell what?” Edward asked. He jumped between emotions: the flash of anger giving way to confusion.

“A, N, D—“ Logan gestured for the rest.

“Oh!” Edward said as he leaned forward. “A, L, A, S, I, A.”

Logan plugged the word into the unforgivably sensitive touchpad, swearing under his breath when the edges of his fingers added extra letters.

Nothing.

He had been banking on it being a name of _something_ at the very least, but only a handful of pages in foreign languages resulted and Edward didn’t harbor the vaguest hint of an accent.

Logan set his cell aside and rubbed a broad hand over his face. “Aside from the valley of joy or whatever, there any other landmarks?”

Edward frowned, eyes fixed on the smartphone as he touched a gloved finger to his chin. “Well, the kingdom of Avalesse would be our closest neighbour...”

Logan stared for a long moment before he polished off the rest of his beer. He set the bottle in the sink and stepped around the kitchen bench for his bedroom. By the time he returned, Edward had his phone again and was turning it over between his fingers.

“Here,” Logan said as he tossed a handful of clothes towards him, and ignored the glare as he cut and lit a fresh cigar. He breathed in a mouthful of smoke and rolled the taste over his tongue before exhaling.

“You ain’t going around in velvet,” Logan said pointedly as Edward lifted a worn shirt from the pile.

The shirt was a faded grey; the material soft through use and smelling strongly of detergent. It was old, too small for Logan whose bulk eclipsed Edward’s by a sizable amount.

“Bathroom’s there,” Logan told him as snagged the bottle that Edward had ignored. “Go for it.”

 

Edward had put up a fight against changing his clothes to something more sociably acceptable, but conceded with Logan’s word that he would help find Giselle.

“The fuck am I doing,” Logan muttered. He could hear the shower running; the walls thin enough, the pipes loud enough and the apartment small enough for it to be all he was aware of. He drained his second beer and set the empty bottle in the sink with the first. It had been a long time since he shared space with another person, road trips aside.

Edward was all pink when he finally emerged and his hair, as it turned out, was curlier wet. He was still excited about the concept of hot water on tap, if his grin was anything to go by. The shirt fit him better than the velvet did, though the sweats ended a few inches above the ankle.

“I ordered take out,” Logan said, “hope you like pizza, kid.”

 

“I love pizza,” Edward announced less than half an hour later.

“Just where are you from,” Logan demanded. There was only so much awe and excitement about day-to-day occurrences he could take in a single afternoon. “There is no way in hell you’ve been coasting through life, here,” he emphasized the point with a finger pressed against the table. “On earth. Possibly in New York or at least somewhere decent enough for you to get an education, and be like—” Logan eyed Edward across the table. “This.”

Out of the stupid outfit, wearing borrowed clothes and with his hair drying in waves, it didn’t make sense. Logan didn’t know what to make of it, much less what to do about it.

“There’s gotta be someone out there looking for you,” Logan said, speaking to himself. “Wondering where his loopy uncle went.” Logan jammed the last piece of crust in his mouth and wiped his fingers clean on a napkin. “One night,” he said, “then I’ll take you downtown and they can sort you out.”

“You owe me more than that, peasant,” Edward told him.

“Christ, I’m not telling you again. It’s Logan. _Logan_. And the hell are you on about?”

“Logan,” Edward corrected, speaking with the air of one trying for patience. “We made an agreement: I wear these,” Edward plucked at the shirt. “To blend in, as you say. And you help me find Giselle. If you had any honor as a—“

“Finish that sentence,” Logan said, “I dare you.”

Edward set his jaw and angled his head enough to look down at Logan from across the table. “This is ridiculous,” Edward said, “I shouldn’t even be here—“

“You got that right.”

“I should be out there, looking for my love.” Edward slammed a hand on the table, using the momentum to push himself to his feet in fresh determination.

“Just—spare the city tonight, alright,” Logan said, suddenly worn out. “I’ll call in tomorrow, get some time off. I’m going to bed,” he continued as he stood. Logan waved at the collection of boxes between them. “Least you could do is carry some of your weight and clean up.”

 

Logan woke slowly, roused by the bars of light that fell across his face. He groped for his cell and failed to find it. The bedside clock told him it was coming onto half past eight in the morning, a good hour later than he usually woke. Logan swore, throwing the sheets back as he scrambled out of bed, managing to nearly brain himself on the side table before the previous day came back to him.

He glanced to the bedroom door. Silence. No TV, no radio, no apparent signs of life. Logan grabbed a pair of jeans that were slung over the end of the bed and stepped into them, zipping the fly as he crossed the room. He braced for the worst as he opened the door.

A quick glance told him that nothing was amiss. The mess was still in place at least, including the empty pizza boxes left on the kitchen table, along with his phone. Logan frowned and crossed the room.

“Stop!”

There was nothing about the tone of Edward’s voice that bode well.

“What the hell have you done this time?” Logan said.

Edward was standing on the couch, both hands wrapped around the hilt of his unsheathed sword which was swung high over his shoulder.

“I’m promising you right now,” Logan said as he snatched his cell off the table. “That whatever you’ve done to this thing, I’m doing the same to you.”

Edward looked affronted, and Logan ignored his response as he checked his cell for damage. There was a shuffle as Edward moved, the only warning before Logan was acutely aware of him crowding at his shoulder. He smelled of soap and clean skin. Nothing indistinct or otherworldly—no vanilla or sharp apple, or what Logan supposed sparkles would smell like.

“What in the world was that unholy noise?” Edward asked.

There were two missed calls: one from work, and one from a number that Logan immediately dismissed. He didn’t answer otherwise and instead, Logan shot off a text to his supervisor and shoved the cell away before rounding on Edward.

“Rule number two,” he said, “no swords.”

Edward frowned. “But how will I—“

Logan held up three fingers. “Number three: no singing.”

The frown took a sharp edge. “How in the world am I supposed to—“

“That’s how it works here,” Logan told him. He strode to the fridge and snagged an open box of juice, taking a long draw before he dragged his wrist against his mouth.

Edward was still glaring at him from where he stood and Logan returned the look until Edward drew his shoulders back. “Very well,” he said.

“Good,” Logan said, cutting across Edward’s answer. He tossed the empty box in the sink alongside the bottles still sitting there from the previous night. “Now let’s go.”

 

It was nearly ten in the morning and they had only left the apartment. Logan had tossed Edward a ratty pair of jeans and another shirt, told him to get changed only to be met with refusal. Edward needed to bathe and prepare. His words. Logan had been about to lose his cool by the time Edward had declared himself done, but Logan supposed the results were worth it. Edward made the black shirt and threadbare jeans acceptable, even with the battered pair of old work boots. He looked good, a thought that made Logan despair a tiny little bit.

“Okay,” Logan said once they were in the subway. He figured that heading back to where he found Edward in the first place was the way to go. “Start from the beginning: when did you lose her anyway?”

Edward cocked his head, thoughtful. “On the day of our wedding,” he said, “she never turned up. Pip told me—“

“Who’s Pip?”

“Her chipmuck—“ Edward stopped. “Where is he?”

Logan held up his hands. “I don’t make a habit of kidnapping chipmunks, bub.”

Edward scanned the carriage, as if he expected the rodent to be seated somewhere inside. Logan had forgotten about the animal.

“Pip was the one who told me,” Edward was saying. “He said that she had been tricked into falling into the never-ending waterfall by a withered old hag.”

One of the little old ladies seated by them shot them a dirty look. Logan smirked.

“So I followed her.”

“Wait,” Logan said, “are you telling me you flung yourself down some waterfall that, for all you know, could have led to you being smeared all over a rocky ravine?”

Edward looked at him as if he were an idiot. “What I’m telling you is that I took it upon myself to rescue my fiancée, as any Prince would do.”

“Where’d you find her anyway?”

“She was being harassed by a troll.”

“Of course,” Logan said, “a troll.”

 

Central Park was a sprawl of parkland in the middle of one of the world’s busiest cities. It was a good a place to start as any, attractive to a woman who lived in a cottage in the woods. As Logan had been told.

It was tiring to watch Edward. He leapt from lamp posts to the tops of statues, from tree branch to archways in search of his wayward fiancée. Logan followed at a loped pace, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as he watched Edward fling himself from landmark to landmark.

Logan palmed the line of his jaw, facial hair rough against his skin. The park was busier than he remembered, crowded with people dressed in bright colors and all working on some barely contained energy that Logan felt excluded from.

Up ahead, Edward perked and then veered onto a bridge that hung over a separate pathway. Logan watched, bemused, as Edward seemed to latch onto something— and then leapt.

That, Logan wasn’t expecting. He swore as he flung himself towards the bridge. “Hey!” he yelled over the edge, down to where Edward had landed. “What did I tell you about singing?”

Edward had just enough time to glance up before he was bowled over by a pack of cyclists.

“Hey!” Logan shouted again. “Don’t you dare break anything because I can’t afford healthcare either.”

Edward staggered to his feet in enough of a disarray for the cyclists’ abuse to fall on deaf ears.

“I can hear her sing,” Edward said before sprinting off.

There was a definite limp to his stride, Logan noted. This must be what having children was like. Logan checked for passing traffic, and then heaved himself over the guardrail. It had been more of a jump than he had anticipated, and the shock of impact seemed to ride all the way up to his teeth. Logan shook off the sensation with a rough sound and set off.

 

Logan found Edward an hour later, perched, legs loosely crossed, on the edge of one of the more extravagant fountains as he watched the beams of water cross before hitting the surface. The sun was at just the right angle for a shimmer of rainbow. It made a pretty picture.

Logan eased himself down by Edward, thigh short of brushing his knee. Edward wore a small frown; nothing exaggerated or comical, nothing like Logan had seen in the hours he had known him.

Hours. Logan turned his attention to the breadth of the park.

“I’m guessing you didn’t find her,” he said eventually. “Busy as hell. Some kind of event or something,” Logan offered, “pretty strange for a work day.”

Edward had a graze on his elbow, Logan saw. The palm of his hands would be scratched up, too.

Logan sighed. “Want some lunch?”

That arrested Edward’s attention; a smile nestled in a casual glance that made Logan wonder what the hell he was doing with his life.

 

The last of the lunch time rush had filtered out of the burger bar by the time they reached it. Marie had her back towards them, arms stacked with plates that she slid through to the kitchen for cleaning. She smiled when she turned and caught sight of Logan. And then she noticed Edward.

“Stop smiling,” Logan growled.

“What?” Marie asked, the word caught in a laugh. “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Logan said as he yanked a chair from the closest table and sat.

Edward followed suit with a perplexed smile on his face.

Logan jabbed a finger towards him. “We’re lookin’ for his girlfriend.”

“Oh!” Marie tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear to cover her surprise. “So not a date then?”

“Not a date,” Logan repeated firmly. He turned his attention back to Edward who looked no less puzzled. “What are you having?”

Edward stared. “What am I… having?”

Logan tossed him the menu. “Pick something.”

He tuned out as Edward went through the menu and asked Marie questions about the meals that Logan was sure were inane and unnecessary. Marie would answer without hesitation - she was sweet like that. Instead, Logan focused on the interior of the diner: at the fliers pinned on the noticeboard, at the artwork that hung on the far side of the room. At the frame of the door, which he noticed – for the first time – was red. Red Door Café. Made sense.

“What’s a date?”

Logan looked back to Edward. “The hell are you asking me for? You’re the one about to get hitched.”

“Hitched?”

“Married,” Logan said, not bothering to keep his growing impatience from his voice.

Edward gave him another one of those haughty looks. “What’s a date,” he said again, less a question the second time around. “And how is this not one.”

Logan slid a hand through his hair in frustration. He still had no idea why he was putting up with this guy – how he talked and especially how he acted got at him in a way not many people could.

“When you’re interested in someone,” Logan couldn’t believe he was explaining this. “You take them out exclusively to places you enjoy. Get to know each other and all that garbage before you get tied up in holy matrimony.”

Edward waited.

Logan tried again. “How long did you know your lady before you decided to get married?”

“About a day.”

A pause.

“What?”

“About a day,” Edward repeated, speaking with the same nonchalance that he had initially answered with. “Why?”

“You’re saying that you met this woman, and then decided to marry her. That day,” Logan clarified. “And she was okay with that? You sure she didn’t run off on you or somethin’?”

“No,” Edward said, “Pip said—where is he anyway? – Pip told me that the old hag—“

“Right, right. The talking squirrel told you some old hag shoved her into the magic waterfall.”

Conversation stalled. Logan sprawled in his chair, feet planted apart. He rested a hand on the table, the other on his knee as Edward looked everywhere except him, though Logan knew that Edward was well aware of his gaze.

Marie’s voice broke through the chill that settled between them. “Here we go, guys. Usual for you,” she said as she set down a plate before Logan. “And the special.” She nudged Logan with her hip as she left, and winked when he shot her a look. Logan refrained from giving her the finger. Just.

 

The rest of the day gave no further hints to the whereabouts of Edward’s fiancée, and, as the day waned, so did Edward’s mood.

“I’ll never find her,” he said, “Lost in a horrifying world like this—“

“Thanks.”

“—never to complete our Love’s Duet. Our Duet! We were supposed to be married by now!”

Logan watched from the kitchen stool as an arm flung outwards and was left to hang over the back of the sofa. There was a moment of silence finally, before the singing started.

“Rule number three,” Logan snapped, “how many damn times do I have to tell you?”

The arm was withdrawn. “I don’t have the time for this, Logan,” Edward said, “it’s no wonder you live in a respite like this all alon—“

Logan didn’t give him the chance to finish before he had stalked across the room and hauled Edward face-to-face over the back of the couch by his shirt.

“You finish that sentence,” he growled, “I dare you.”

Edward closed his hand over Logan’s, fingers digging into skin as he matched Logan’s glare with a steely one of his own. “Unhand me at once.”

“Seeing as you’re a visitor to the real world and all,” Logan said, ignoring him. “Here’s a lesson you oughta learn. That fairy tale bullshit? It doesn’t happen here. No such thing as happily ever after, or riding into the sunset on your white horse. True love doesn’t exist and like hell does it last forever.”

Logan thought of the phone call that morning, of the number that flashed on his phone screen every so often. “And don’t you _dare_ assume anything of me,” he said, voice low and dangerous before he shoved Edward back.

Edward scrambled upright. “If that’s how you go about—“

“Shut up.”

“If you—“

“Shut the hell up.”

“Whatever happened,” Edward said, “love is not like that.”

Logan paused and looked back. Edward was still angry; his body taut with it, hand clenched against the couch pillow. But there was an edge to his expression and in the tone of his voice that Logan was hesitant to identify.

So he didn’t.

Logan grabbed a pack of smokes and a beer from the fridge, and slammed the balcony door shut as he stepped outside. The metal vibrated beneath his feet, a ring of noise and sensation that traveled up through the bars.

There was silence from the apartment as Logan drank and smoked until he stunk of it. It didn’t do much to dampen the frustration and hurt that Edward dug up, but it was something.

The sound of the television being flicked on made him stiffen. He crushed his cigarette on the metal handrail, swore at the lack of anything stronger and started to fish another from the packet when he heard a bang followed by a tumble.

“Goddamnit. What the hell have you done now?” Logan said as he wrenched the balcony door open.

He stopped short at the sight that greeted him: Edward half dressed as he fought to get out of his borrowed shirt and back into his velvet monstrosity.

“Giselle!”

Logan followed Edward’s finger to the television where a red headed woman, flanked by a small, dark haired child, talked about Pip. Her bravest and oldest friend. Logan pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep the headache at bay.

“116th on Broadway!” Edward stumbled mid-announcement, tripped up by his tights. “We must go!”

“We?” Logan gestured to the screen where the announcer signed off for the evening. “You know where she is, what the hell did you need me for?”

Edward straightened, hands soothing down the creases of his regalia. He looked confused, as if he had no idea why Logan wouldn’t be accompanying him.

“We had an arrangement—” Edward said.

“116th on Broadway,” Logan said, “you saw it on _my_ TV and that qualifies for helping you find her.”

Edward pulled on his gloves as Logan spoke, his features set in a way that told Logan he wasn’t taking no as an answer. Logan steeled himself, arms crossed in a not-so-subtle display of muscle. What he hadn’t been prepared for was for Edward’s borrowed shirt to be flung at his face, the fabric still warm from Edward’s skin.

“Get dressed,” Edward told him. “We’re going.”

 

“Nice digs,” Logan said.

The man who had been with Edward’s fiancée had been a sophisticated affair, so of course he lived here: central, surrounded by parks and close to the river. Logan itched for a cigar, but Edward had refused to let him buy any on the way, not wanting his velvet to stink of smoke.

A bellhop stood at the revolving doors of the complex, complete with the round cap and white gloves. Logan settled a hand between Edward’s shoulders, busy calculating how much effort it would take to get rid of the bellhop and get them into the building when he felt Edward tense beneath his fingers.

Followed by the sound of liquid hitting leather. Logan didn’t even bother hiding his grin.

“Hey, lady!” the bellhop shouted, “no dogs!”

Logan shoved a still distracted Edward forward, nearly knocking him off his feet as they made for the entrance.

“Those don’t exist in Andalasia,” Edward hissed seconds later as Logan dragged him through the hallway by the cape. They had spun around twice in the revolving doors: once from Edward’s initial confusion, and a second time when Logan had tried to catch him.

“I don’t care,” Logan said, “you’re still a goddamn idiot.”

The interior of the building was dated, but clean, with high ceilings and paneled walls. There were signs of recent maintenance: a hint of fresh paint and the soft pad of new carpet. Logan made a face at the smell.

“What now, Eddie?” Logan asked as he flicked a glance up and down the hallway. “Unless you wanna go knocking on every single door or somethin’.”

He trailed off mid-sentence when Edward approached the nearest door, knocked, and then turned back just to give him a pointed look.

Logan stared. It was going to be a long night.

 

He woke to a cramp in his neck and a weight against his left side. The weight shifted and withdrew, and Logan hissed as sensation flooded his freed arm. He flexed his hand to get the blood moving, tendons sliding over knuckle as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

Beside him, Edward stood with little trouble, unfairly put together after the rough night, and Logan scowled as he scrambled to his feet with much less grace.

“Ready?”

“Just be grateful they didn’t call the cops on us,” Logan grunted, voice rough with sleep as he ground the heel of his hand against his eye.

The night had passed in a blur of disgruntled faces before Edward had sunk to the floor in defeat. Logan had been certain that his despair would have lingered – hell, they could have gone home – but Edward managed to recover in spite of the scant sleep, hard floor; and the constant rattle of 1027’s radiator that had nearly driven Logan up the wall, and was already knocking on 1029 as Logan struggled to work all the kinks from his body.

“I’m gonna give you two more doors,” Logan said as they moved on to 1031. “Then we’re going.”

“We are _not_ ,” Edward said, sounding annoyed despite the smile he aimed towards the door. “Not until we find her.”

“Then _I’m_ going.”

“You’re not.”

“Why d’you need me here anyway?” Logan demanded once 1033 was shut in their face.

Edward hesitated, edging a look towards him before he refocused on 1035. “We had an arrangement.”

There was a collective pause once 1035 was pulled open. “Well,” Logan said as he stared at the girl who stood before them, gaping back. “My guess is that the arrangement just ended.”

The girl took in every puff and swirl of Edward’s outfit before she asked, awed: “Are you Prince Edward?” Not that she waited for an answer before she flung herself back into the apartment.

Logan supposed she didn’t need one.

“Dad! Dad!” Logan heard as Edward swept in after her. “You’ll never guess who’s here!”

Logan hesitated as he eyed the interior of the apartment. There were no questionable stains on the wall, no lingering smell of smoke and damp. The floor was clean and the pillows on the couch were bright and plump. This was his cue to leave. The prince and princess were reunited, fairytale finished. Time for the sidekick to gracefully step out.

Except he didn’t.

Logan stepped into the apartment and shut the door after him. He moved past the main entrance and towards the living space where Edward had lifted and spun Giselle, threatening to knock over a chair and TV set faster than the Suit – though out of the suit and still in PJs – could haul the appliances away. They were excited and in love in a way Logan knew was closed to him. That was until Edward set Giselle to the floor.

The entire situation was like a misstep, awkward and clunky, but Logan wasn’t one to let circumstances faze him.

“What now, bub?” Logan directed the question to the pair, who stood as if they had no idea what to do next. “You gonna head back?”

Edward fumbled with Giselle’s hands before he shot a glare to Logan over his shoulder puff.

“Well, yes,” he said, first hesitant then firm. “Of course, why wait?”

“Edward?”

Logan clamped down on his irritation as Edward whipped his attention back to Giselle, but it stung to be so casually dismissed.

“Before we go,” Giselle said, words uncertain as if she wasn’t sure how her fiancé would react. “I just want to do one thing.”

“Yes, my love?”

Giselle glanced to the Suit and his daughter for support and found strength there; shoulders steeling as she looked back up to Edward.

“I want to go on a date.”

“A date,” Edward repeated.

“You know dates,” Logan spoke before he could help it; as far as he was concerned, the worse he could make the situation for Edward, the better. “That little thing you do to get to know each other before getting all tied up in holy matrimony?”

“I know what a date is,” Edward said, cutting over Logan’s words.

“Did you go on one?” Giselle asked, already distracted from the main conversation. “With him?”

And the thing was that there was no accusation or judgment in her voice, only curiosity as she looked between them with a growing smile. Like she was happy at the concept, knowing what a date was.

“Was it nice?”

“I don’t think they went on a date,” the Suit said, stepping into the conversation with a patience that lay beyond Logan’s capabilities. He flicked a look towards Logan who met it evenly. “Just dinner. Like we did.”

“That’s wonderful!” Giselle said, “where did you go?”

Every single ounce of Logan’s being wished for a beer. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

“Red Door Café,” Edward interrupted, glancing towards Logan as he spoke. “A burger establishment.”

The irritation was gone, Logan saw, replaced with an expression that made something twist low in his stomach.

“It was—it was pleasant. But we shall go on a date,” Edward continued as he slid his focus back to Giselle. “Before we return home.”

This time, Logan kept his mouth shut.

 

Logan shoved his wallet back in his jeans and grabbed the package, the brown paper crinkling in his grasp. He lit up when he was back on the street – teeth tight on the narrow end of a freshly cut cigar.

There had been little fanfare when he and Edward had parted ways: a scant acknowledgement to his hospitality that made Logan want to deck the guy. He had given up two and a half work days; food, had his patience tested more times than he could count. There was even an extra load of laundry to do, and it just—

Wasn’t fair.

Logan took the long way home, satisfied to lose himself in the crowded city streets.

“Hey,” Kitty greeted.

Logan grunted as he climbed the stairs and collapsed beside her. Kitty grabbed the bottle and shuffled down the paper to read the label.

“Wow,” she said as she glanced up to him, brows raised. “Big night planned?”

Kitty was one of the younger tenants within the establishment. Petite with delicate features, she was also tougher than she looked. Kitty would get along with Marie. Logan always imagined that they would be good friends.

“Where’s the guy?” Kitty asked.

Logan shrugged. “On a date with his fiancée.”

Kitty slid the bottle in the bag and handed it back. “Try not to kill yourself.”

“If I was gonna go by alcohol poisoning, kid,” Logan said as he accepted the package and stood. “I’d’ve been dead a long time ago.”

 

Logan set a shot glass on the table, uncapped the bottle and topped up. He drained the measure in a single swallow, shook his head and then chased the alcohol with a mouthful of cigar smoke. The result was a pleasant buzz that started from the pit of his stomach before spreading outward. He topped up the glass again and set the bottle down beside it, stripping as he strode through the apartment.

Freshly showered, Logan sat at the table and put away the second shot. He was being self-destructive and he knew it. Logan could almost hear her telling him off. Logan tossed back another shot. It was unfair how it easy it was to adjust to sharing space with another person; easier than it had been making the adjustment to living alone.

It was coming to eleven o’clock and Logan was a couple of drinks away from being drunk, and the real shitty thing about the situation was the fact that he made a miserable one. Nothing dug up old memories like hard liquor. He stood and staggered to the bathroom.

Relieved and hands clean, Logan made his way back to the kitchen. He glanced at the TV as he passed, idly wondering when he turned it on before he registered what, exactly, was playing on the screen. It was the news. Unremarkable, if not for fact they were reporting about the dragon climbing out of the Woolworth Building.

“What in the living fuck—,“ Logan breathed as he stumbled to his knees in front of the TV and grabbed the frame, as if being closer to the set would make any difference to what he was seeing.

The plastic was warm beneath his fingers and it hurt his eyes to be so close, but the dragon was still there, picture shaky as the cameraman followed its progress out the side of Woolworths. The scene cut as concrete rained down to the pavement, switching back to the reporter.

“NYPD advises everyone to stay indoors,” the reporter said. “The situation has been kept under control.”

 

Traffic was at a standstill: the subway was offline, busses grounded, and anything Logan hailed refused to go inner-city. Police were everywhere, lights flashing in the night rain as they whipped through the streets. He ended up making the journey on foot, against the flow of panicked New Yorkers fighting their way to the outskirts of the city.

The building was still intact by the time Logan reached it, soaked, out of breath and legs aching. There was glitter heaped on the ground like crushed diamond. Logan dropped to a crouch to sift a dry handful between his fingers. It was softer and finer than sand, no different than the sparkle that had accompanied Edward’s appearance through the manhole. Logan wiped the residue on his jeans as he stood. There was no more dragon at least. Word was it had exploded into the stuff upon impact. Convenient, Logan supposed, tidier than a tidal wave of blood and guts.

Police and Special Forces darted around the scene, shooting commands into their hand units as they redirected civilians and evacuated party goers. There had been a King and Queen’s Ball, Logan heard, catching snatches of conversation as he strode past the Do Not Enter lines, and the Prince’s evil stepmother had morphed into a dragon to save her crown! A bit of a ruckus, oh yes, but more entertaining than the previous year and would they attend the next? He cast his gaze upwards. People.

It was easy enough to find an alternate route to where the ball had taken place. The damage was worse than what he had seen on television: a portion of the wall had been ripped out leaving a sliver of balcony behind; chucks of concrete and bars of twisted metal lay haphazardly on the ground, or poked out where the ends still held. Strands of wire hung from the ceiling, coming down like vines, while padding and pieces of furniture were flung through the partially gutted floor. The rain came in, puddling where it couldn’t run, and, there, framed by the New York City night was Edward. 

He stood in his finery, velvet turned black from the rain and hair plastered to his head as he regarded the skyline that lay before him.

Logan picked his way through the debris and stopped. “Hey.”

Edward turned. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword and Logan spared a thought as to how he managed to sneak it into the event. Didn’t they have security? Logan’s gaze wandered over to the remaining pieces of torn out wall that stood in a silent answer to his question.

“Where’s your princess?” he asked instead.

Edward straightened. “With her True Love.”

“I’d be right in guessin’ that ain’t you then?”

The rain eased, steady downfall giving way to a soft shower that pattered on Logan’s shoulders. Logan looked up, blinked away the drops that fell into his eyes and turned his attention back to Edward.

“Y’know,” he started again. “I was nearly hitched once. It— didn’t work out.”

“Why?” Edward asked.

Logan thought of Kayla and his brother, and all the little things that he had missed. “I told you, that’s how it works here. New York isn’t exactly the place you come lookin’ for happily ever after.”

“You’ve just never let it.”

It was stupid how all soft and misty Edward looked in the rain, and it was stupid how it suited him: the outfit, the crumbled wall, the slick of water than ran against the angle of his cheeks and – for the first time – Logan saw that his eyes were blue.

Edward closed the distance between them, pausing only to bend and collect something off the ground.

“She left her shoe,” Edward said as he offered it to him.

Logan stared at the heel. Trust the princess to pick something as close to glass as she could get. “You can try,” he said as he looked back up to Edward. “But like hell I can fit into that.”

Edward smiled, wide and genuine. “Like I said, you’ve just never let it.”


End file.
